The Art of Murder
by SpiritoftheMapleLeaf
Summary: Ivan picks up hitchhikers and kills them off. Matthew murders people kind enough to give him a ride. What happens one night when the two serial killers meet? Snapped!Hetalia. NOTICE: No countries were harmed in the writing of this story. 3-part story.
1. Part I

**A/N: ****IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: I do not in any way take claim of the plot of this story. This is based offf of a short story by Jack Kilborn and Blake Crouch. I also do not own Hetalia, or any other brand names in this. I will rightfully cite these at the end of part 3.**

**Please enjoy~**

Part I

The hardest thing about killing a hitchhiker is finding one to pick up.

Ivan always found trouble in this. He remembered back a good twenty years ago when hitchhikers came every ten miles, smiling and completely trusting, not enough crap in the world to better their judgement. Those were the glory days, when he was younger and therefore less likely to be up to something.

The Russian saw his victim before he saw him. Tall and mid-twenties, the boy was sitting at a bench outside the local diner, asking anyone who came and went for a ride. He seemed innocent enough. Just few inches shorter than Ivan, with dirty blond hair and rectangular prescription glasses. He had a cocky grin that he plastered on every time he interrogated another person. A backpack was slung over his shoulder, which just so happened to sporting a World War II bombers jacket. A patriotic man. It would be harder to earn his trust.

Ivan pretended to ignore him as he advanced to the diner. Luckily he didn't have to do anything else. He was immediately approached.

"Excuse me, sir! Are you heading east?" the man asked with that grin of his. Up closer Ivan saw his eccentric sky blue eyes. They intrigued him, and Ivan knew this was the boy he wanted. A fresh young man just there for the picking.

Ivan stopped, pretending to notice him for the first time. He widened his eyes, resisting the urge to smile, as he knew that often if scared people away. He held a hand up to his white scarf and spoke."Da. I am, actually."

The boy's smile widened, if that was even possible. "Really?" he sounded like a girl who was just got asked out on a date. Much like an older sister of Ivan's, actually. The boy coughed. "Erm, I mean, great." he answered, his voice an octave lower. "I am, myself, so I was wondering if you'd care for a little company." His face grew sober for a minute. "Nothing funny. I have a boyfriend waiting for me at the next town. Hoping I'd be there later this evening." He stuck out his hand. "Name's Alfred, by the way."

Ivan hesitated before shaking his hand. The boy was obviously a little smarter than he looked. Stating that he was meeting someone gave him a little desperation; meaning he wouldn't fool around or anything. Plus if he was gay, this would surely be more interesting.

"Are you sure you are the trusting type?" Ivan had already made up his mind to say yes, but he enjoyed the small bit of irony in his question.

"Yes, sir! I'll even pay for gas. I'll use my credit card, so you can track me if something happens. Sound good?" Alfred looked pleading now. Such a child.

"My gas tank is full, so that is okay." Ivan nodded. "But as long as you are not going to do the talking the whole time, I will give you a ride."

Alfred smiled and fistpumped. "Awesome! Thanks, dude!"

The two headed into the parking lot to Ivan's black Porsche. He unlocked the trunk, where Alfred unceremoniously chucked his backpack. He opened his door on the passengers and frowned when he saw the plastic covering the seats. "Yo! What's with the plastic?" he yelled.

Ivan had to smile. '_Yo'? This boy is about as sharp as toothpick._ "Da. The plastic. I normally ride with an animal. I have cat named Pushistik.1"

"Oh, okay." Alfred sat down without another word. Not even suspicious. Ivan loved his ignorance.

He fell into the driver's seat, the car bouncing on its shocks. "Buckle up, da?"

Alfred nodded and did as he said. Ivan tried to contain his excitement. He released the brake, started the car, and pulled onto the highway.

Ivan was afraid that the first ten miles would be awkward. They always were. But Alfred, despite being told not to talk, was fairly chatty. "So what's your name?" he asked.

"Ivan." He never lied about his name. The victims didn't stay alive long enough to tell someone anyway.

"You have an accent. Where ya' from?"

"Russia."

Ivan glanced over, wanting to see his reaction. He was met with a frown, but it instantly vanished. "Oh." He changed the subject. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a courier," he answered. He reached for a bottle of vodka in his center console. Taking a swig of it, he offered some to Alfred, who shook his head. He seemed a bit worried about the alcohol, but if he was, he said nothing about it.

"What's a courier?" he asked instead.

Ivan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "A courier delivers packages, letters, messages. That is what I do."

"Are you on a run now?"

"Da."

"What are you delivering?"

"Actually, it is what I am picking up. I am transferring a heart."

" . . . A heart?"

"Da."

"Like a _real_ heart?"

"Da." Ivan pointed to a cooler in the backseat. A couple of biohazard stickers were stuck to it. Alfred's eyes widened.

"Dude, that's badass."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Yeah."

They continued to drive along the road. Alfred began to hum some sort of poppy staccato music. The afternoon was bright and sunny, a perfect drive. Ivan glanced around; the road was clear ahead and behind.

Perfect.

Ivan began to laugh, a dark chuckle that he could tell unnerved Alfred, for he stopped humming and glanced warily at him. "Dude, you alright?"

Ivan, still emitting small giggles, looked over at Alfred. The boy immediately flinched under his gaze. "Da. I am just thinking."

Alfred smiled nervously. "About what?"

Ivan smiled. "You becoming one with Mother Russia."

Alfred reached for something in his pocket- a weapon, perhaps-and Ivan knew it was time.

He checked one more time for traffic before gripping the wheel and slamming on the brakes. Going eighty miles per hour, that stop was very sudden.

Alfred's seatbelt snapped open; just the way Ivan fixed it to. With a hand in his pocket he wasn't able to slow himself down and Alfred's head slammed into the dashboard. Normally this wouldn't have hurt too badly. But Ivan had reinforced it with steel. His face smashed against the dash as the car shuddered to a stop with a screech.

Alfred looked pretty awful. His nose was banged up and bleeding, and a bruise was already starting to form on his forehead. He whimpered something incoherent and his glasses fell off of his face. Ivan smiled, and turned away for a second to grab the zip tie he kept on the side of his door.

He turned around only to be slugged in the face. Ivan growled at boy was holding a hand up to his nose and breathing heavily.

Before Alfred could do anything else stupid, Ivan grabbed his hair and slammed his head in the dashboard two more times. Then he grabbed his hands and tied them together with the zip line.

Once Alfred was contained, Ivan slumped back in his seat. He licked the blood of off his busted lip. Alfred literally packed quite a punch. He never expected that to happen. Actually it had never happened before. He must've underestimated Alfred's strength.

In Alfred's pocket he found a 9mm pistol. Not bad. He might use it for later.

Ivan pulled back onto the highway, humming a tune from one of his favorite songs.2Once he went far enough, he pulled off of the pavement onto a dirt road. On one side was a stretch of farmland. Ivan grinned. This was where he would do it.

"You asshole . . ." Alfred muttered.

Ivan's eyes widened in surprise. Alfred was still awake? "No. I am not an asshole." He pulled onto an almost nonexistent pass that led to a barn. Ivan killed the engine and turned to grin at Alfred, who by now was a gruesome sight with blood running down his face. "I am a serial killer."

He dragged Alfred out of the passenger seat, the whole time the poor boy twisting and turning and cursing Ivan. Before he left he made sure he had the emergency brake on; his car had problems with the other brake. He also left his white scarf neatly folded on the driver's seat. He hated when he dirtied it.

They reached the barn, where Ivan neatly laced a chain through the zip line that held Alfred's wrists together. He once used handcuffs, but zip lines cut off more circulation and therefore hurt more.

Alfred seemed to finally accept he was going to die and shut up. Not that Ivan minded. The boy would be screaming soon anyway.

He walked to the side of the barn where he kept a chest containing his worst tortures. But today he was feeling old fashioned, and went with his water pipe. Ivan needed to get back at him for punching him anyways. Plus no other torture caused more pain than being beaten with a water pipe.

The screams only made Ivan hungrier. The blood only made him stronger. He loved the fear that shown on Alfred's face, the sheer terror of death that made Ivan aroused. Soon the screams faded to groans; groans faded to whimpers. This was where Ivan stopped. He quickly undid the chain, where Alfred fell to the floor with a thump.

Ivan laughed. He rolled Alfred over on his back. He caught a glimpse at those blue eyes again, those eyes filled with horror. Ivan laughed again as he straddled him. His pants tightened with anticipation. "Dear Alfred, we are only just getting started."

..~xThisIsAPageBreakx~..

Cleanup was the worst part. He always left a mess on the barn floor. Ivan always had to add more straw, just enough to cover the blood stains. Then he had to change his clothes and clean his water pipe.

Finding a place to put the body was whole other task. Often he buried it, trashed it, even pureed it. This time Ivan decided to burn it. He found a nice trash can and placed the body in there, along with his soiled clothes. He watched to make sure nothing but ashes was left.

This was how he hadn't been caught all these years. If he weren't so precise, the police would've long since discovered him. Ivan was an expert. He would probably keep doing this until the day he by him.

Ivan searched through Alfred's bag, discovering fifty bucks, a change of clothes, a wallet filled with a credit card and some pictures, and maybe ten greasy hamburgers. He trashed the clothes and the food, and looked through the wallet. The credit card would have to go. It would be a sure way of connecting him to the crime. The photos too. Most of them were of Alfred and a shorter man with spiky blond hair and enormous eyebrows. He looked to be the type who would scowl all the time, but in every photograph he was smiling. The boyfriend, Ivan assumed. There was another picture that looked like two Alfreds were in it, but he realized it must've been a brother.

He burned this stuff too.

After replacing the plastic in his car and wiping it with bleach, he neatly tucked his scarf around his neck. By the time he reached the highway it was rush hour, and the traffic almost sent Ivan over the edge. Seriously, Americans were almost as bad of drivers as Italians.

Ivan was starting to think about causing an accident when he saw him. Short, slender. Long golden blond hair and glasses.A violin case in one hand and a thumb jutting out on the other. For some odd reason, a stuffed polar bear was tucked underneath one of his arms. He was beautiful. He was also standing on the side of the road, like an open invitation.

Ivan thought about it. Two in one day? He'd never attempted it before.

It only took him a moment before coming to a conclusion. Ivan smiled before cutting out of traffic to the shoulder and stopping for his next victim.

**A/N: Part I done. Please review~**


	2. Part II

**A/N: I can't believe how many people like this story! It makes me so happy! Thank you for all the lovely favs and reviews. They are amazing. And now for Part II~**

Part II

Matthew hated the waiting.

It was by far the worst task of his hobby. Standing on the side of the highway holding his thumb up for hours at a time. It made him more anxious. Guess that was the price of choosing such remote places though. In the end it would all be worth it.

He sighed as he watched another car go by with no hint of stopping. This sucked. Perhaps he should try again tomorrow. How sad to give up so early in the morning, but sometimes a there were simply no takers.

He sat down and pulled his violin case off his shoulder. Double checking there wasn't any car coming soon, he snapped it open.

Yes, everything was still in place. It stunk fairly bad though; he hadn't cleaned it in a while. He pulled out his stuffed polar bear. It gave him a kid-ish appearance that was sometimes necessary to lure in a driver. Luckily he had such a feminine frame already that most people he drew in were creepy pedophiles. Those were the best kind to kill. They always thought they had the upper hand. So cocky too. It only made them even more bewildered when they discovered their fate.

Matthew rubbed his hands together and blew on them, fighting the morning chill. The cold was nice, but only for so long.

He was so busy swimming in a pool of self-pity he hardly noticed when the blue Cadillac pulled up next to him.

A honk jarred him out of his stupor and out hopped a man who looked the same age as him, mid-twenties or so. "Hola, Senior! We can take you up as far as fifty miles, if you'd like." He was Hispanic man with curly brown hair and bright green eyes. He smiled so wide it was almost contagious.

Matthew smiled and pretended to be shy. "Th-that would be great, thank you." He mumbled. He walked up to the car and cautiously slid into the back seat. The Spanish man slid into the passenger's.

Matthew examined his travel mates. Driving was a man with blond hair almost most identical to Matthew's. Matthew supposed the man was attractive, but when he grinned over his shoulder before starting the car it became obvious. That one was no doubt a creep.

Sitting next to Matthew was a man with strange characteristics. He had platinum white hair and intriguing ruby red eyes. The eyes ran over his body, looking closely at every part, and Matthew blushed. Despite what would happen, Matthew immediately thought he was cute.

Matthew took note of the cans of open beer in the center console and one in the back. He hid his smile in his stuffed bear. That would make things much easier.

"I'm Antonio." The Spaniard said. "And this is Franny." He gestured to the driver.

"Oui, my friends call me Franny, but I am actually Francis." His accent was clearly French, and for a second Matthew thought he might tell him that he spoke French as well. But he needed to play the shy part out.

"Mr. Silence in the back is Gilbert. Say something Gil." Francis commanded/pleaded.

"Well, hallo. I don't suppose you have any beer on you, do you? We're almost out." Matthew shook his head. "Damn it. We'll need to stop at the next gas station for beer."

"And gas." Francis agreed.

"Si. I need to use _el baño_." Antonio added.

"Alright, then we stop at the next place." Gilbert nodded with finality. His accent sounded familiar . . . German maybe?

They went five miles before someone spoke again. "What's your name, birdie?" Gilbert asked.

Matthew once again acted shy. "M-Matthew."

"Where are you headed, Matthew?" that was Antonio.

"I'm going to the next town to spend a night there. My brother is supposed to meet me there." This was the same story he used every time. As long as he was meeting someone, no one grew suspicious.

"You play the violin?" spoke Francis.

"Y-Yes."

"Will you play us something?"

Matthew's eyes widened with false fear. It was enough for Gilbert to notice. "I don't think right now's the time, Franny."

Francis nodded, taking the hint.

"Hey right there, amigos!" Antonio pointed to a small tired-looking gas station. Francis pulled into it.

Antonio took off straight to the bathroom, much like a little kid would. Gilbert laughed and followed after him, taking money to pay for the gas and to get some more beer. Francis was outside pumping the gas, swooning over a woman in the station next to him.

Leaving Matthew alone in the car.

Double-checking to make sure no one was looking, he tested the weight of all the open beers. Two half empty and one almost full. Perfect. They would have to finish them.

He popped open the violin case—luckily the smell wasn't too bad—and took out the syringe. Then he delivered a healthy dose to each drink. Enough to knock them out for at least twenty minutes.

He sat back into his seat, placing everything back in his case and snapping it shut. He sighed. Matthew had been caught once before. Only once, and the person almost got away, if Matthew hadn't of grabbed his ponytail and poured all of the syringe down his throat. And the worst part was that he ended up ODing, so Matthew wasn't able to have any fun with him. **1**

The trio returned a few minutes later. Francis' face left cheek was an ugly red and when Matthew raised an eyebrow at him he shrugged his shoulders. "I was too passionate for that woman."

Antonio hopped into the passenger. "Dios mio! I can go another day now!"

"Me too!" Gilbert laughed, triumphantly holding up two (two!) cases of some sort of German beer. He slid into the back seat; the other two immediately began asking for some. "Nein. Not until you finish the others."

"Por que?" Antonio whined.

"Because this is fine German beer. What's that one open can gonna do to you anyway?"

Matthew hid his smile in his bear.

The others grumbled about it, but they complied, draining their drinks before gaining access to the new ones. Gilbert did the same, claiming that "even his awesomeness complied with his own rules." They offered Matthew one, but he refused.

Five minutes later back on the road, Francis began to frown. "Mon deiu."

"What is it Franny?" Antonio yawned.

Francis squinted. "I think I am drunk."

"Already? You usually only start after you fifth. You've only had three."

"Oui, I know. But the road…I see two of them."

Antonio looked at the road too. "Gilbert, that was German beer, right? Because I am seeing two roads also."

Matthew looked up, feigning concern. "Is everything alright?"

"Ja." Gilbert shrugged him off. "Just go a bit longer. Mein bruder and I drink that beer all the time. Unless you two have suddenly gone soft, you should be fine."

Matthew watched the asphalt zipping past the car. He waited until Francis drifted out of the lines one, two, three times before he took action. "P-please. Pull over. I feel sick." he whispered.

Gilbert's eyes widened. "Oh shit. Franny, you heard the guy. Pull over."

Francis blinked slowly.

"Francis?"

He shook his head. "Oui. Yes, of course."

The car slowly came to a stop on the side of the road, and Matthew hopped out. He ran down the embankment, making fake retching noises.

He stayed down there for about five minutes before sighing and walking back up, smile on his face. He returned to the Cadillac, to discover that Francis and Antonio were out like a light in the front. Gilbert's head bobbed up from the back.

"What…did you put in our goddamn drinks?" he slurred. He had a glazed look in those red eyes, but no anger. In fact, he seemed…amused.

Matthew smirked. "Too bad. You're kinda cute." He leaned into the car and pressed their lips together for a moment. When he pulled away Gilbert slumped back.

After a great struggle with what little strength Matthew had, he finally managed to remove Francis from the driver's seat and onto Antonio. It looked pretty awkward, actually, which made the blond snicker. If only he had kept that camera from the kind Japanese man who had offered him a ride, and then, you know, who he killed.

He drove several miles until he found Interstate 32. According to the internet, it was the most remote interstate in the country. He'd also tested his theory, so he knew this was true.

After giving them each another dose of the syringe, he grit his teeth and started on the worst part of his whole operation; preparing them.

First he had to remove their clothes. He always used scissors over actually undressing them; much quicker to simply cut them off. The scissors were old and jagged from years of use. Still Matthew couldn't bear to part with them. He was funny like that. Being sentimental about a pair of scissors while taking countless lives.

All the clothes were disposed of easy enough. Seeing them all stark naked made Matthew laugh. His laugh was crazy. Over the years he had perfected it just to get that look of fear out of his victims.

He slowly, painstakingly, dragged each of them out of the car and onto the road, where he cuffed their hands and feet to each other's like those paper families he used to make in grade school. Then he used a sturdy rope to thread through all the leg cuffs, and secured it to the hitch with a double knot. Just of curiosity Matthew popped open the trunk.

Helmets. Three biker helmets. There were other things for biking too, but the _helmets._ Holy shit, how had he not thought of that? He took them out and put them on the trio. It looked positively bizarre, three men lying on the road handcuffed to each other wearing nothing but dirt bike helmets.

Matthew smiled, ready for his work to begin. He sat in the Cadillac and popped open a can of one of the beers, sipping it as he waited for the others.

They returned to full, roaring consciousness ten minutes later.

"Hey, we're all naked." Matthew could hear their first conversations.

"Oui, obviously, Toni. We've been duped. Mattheiu slipped us something."

"… P-Por que?"

"Kesesesesese~"

"Gilbert, why are you laughing?"

"Sorry. Am I the only one with a sense of humor?"

"Oh, just shut up and try to get out."

It was at that moment Matthew decided to step out, feeling the intensity of his own grin radiating off of his face. "Oh good. You're awake."

"Birdie, what are you doing?" Gilbert asked, a lopsided smile on his face. He seemed to find his entire situation funny.

In response Matthew tapped the hitch, disturbing the ropes.

Dead silence for a moment as the trio put two and two together.

"Matthew, don't do this!" Antonio pleaded.

Matthew shrugged. "I kinda already had my heart set on it. Sorry."

"Mon dieu, he's crazy." Francis muttered.

"Come on, birdie. Let us go. We'll give you whatever you want." Gilbert reasoned.

A chuckle escaped Matthew's lips. "This _is_ what I want." He turned on his heel and heading for the driver's seat as the doomed victims called after him.

He rolled both windows down so he could hear them. "We'll start with a mile!" He shouted to his cargo.

Matthew watched his rear view mirror as he slowly began to drive.

They hollered and begged, even yelped if they went over a rock. Finally Matthew did what he wanted and accelerated to twenty miles per hour, then thirty, then forty.

Their screams and shouts filled the morning air—actually by now it was noon—but Matthew kept it steady at forty until the odometer moved up a mile, and he pulled over on the shoulder, grabbing a little spray bottle from his violin case.

They were a quite a sight now, a beautiful crimson color that could be seen all over their bodies. At some point Antonio must've flipped over, because one of his knees was sanded down to the bone. Scrapes and bruises were everywhere, peppering their bodies like little pieces of confetti.

"Si vous plait, Mattheiu. Stop." Francis croaked out. Antonio was crying like a child.

In response, Matthew pretended to pout. "But Francis," he walked next to him and leaned over so that he almost spoke in his ear, "tu es belle." He stood up straight. "And now I'll make you look even prettier." He pointed the bottle at them, which contained pure rubbing alcohol, and sprayed.

Their bodies writhed as newfound pain struck them all. "What the FUCK!" Gilbert shrieked.

Matthew skipped with delight back to driver's seat and stepped on the accelerator. At fifty miles an hour their screams began to resemble the baying of hounds, and he howled with them. The burst of heat at noon day only made him happier. He watched them in the mirror with pleasure as they became redder and redder, prettier and prettier. When he reached eighty they bounced on the asphalt like dead bodies, which was sort of true.

After five miles the trio finally grew silent.

Matthew could not recognize them. Perfectly unharmed faces attached to bloody skeletons. At least they died together, among friends. It was always a little less happy when the traveler was pulled alone.

He found a nice little ditch, and, keeping Gilbert's helmet, he disposed of the bodies. The Cadillac was pretty reliable car, to Matthew's surprise, and he zipped along the road with that crazy after-kill buzz. Using the money he got from them, he stopped at a diner and celebrated with all-you-can-eat pancakes, in which he ate 11. He cleaned his stuff in the diner's restroom.

Matthew exited with a skip in his step. The total number of murders caused by him had gone up by three. Which meant 14 people. A new personal record.**2**

Still, when he slid into the driver's seat, he was still met with that pit in his stomach, that longing for more. That rush he felt when he heard their screams. God, it was like getting high, but without the physical turmoil.

Matthew sighed, looking out the window. He saw the highway bustling with rush hour traffic, and considered it. Why not? The night was still young. He stepped out of the car, leaving it unlocked and with the keys on the seat (someone would take it) and cut through a hole in the gate. He stopped under an overpass, took out his stuffed polar bear, and stuck out his thumb.

**A/N: I couldn't help but add the PruCan...**

**Notes!**

**1:Past victim is obviously China.**

**2: Canada has killed 14 people. They are (in order) Cuba, Poland, Finland and Sweden, Italy and Romano, Japan, China, Hungary, Switzerland and Lechenstein (He ODed Liech. Even killers have a heart), and now Spain, France, and Prussia.**

**Reviews are awesome, please~**


	3. Part III

**A/N: Okay~ here we go. Part III. Some of you will laugh. Some of you will be disappointed. I will be waiting to hear from you. Might add a bonus part if I get enough reviews. Read on...**

Part III

Ivan pulled over under the overpass1 and lowered his passenger window. The boy was small, with sparkling violet eyes that somehow made the Russian uncomfortable. Nonetheless he was cute. A brand new little doll. "Where are you going?" he asked with a smile as pleasant as they come.

The boy smiled back. "Just west." His voice was whispery and soft.

"Da. Promise not to talk too much and I will take you as far as I can."

"Th-thank you." Matthew stuttered, making him look even more attractive. He took a step forward, hesitating before opening the back door and placing his violin case inside. He noticed the upholstery covering the front seats. "Umm…"

"The plastic? It is nothing. I sometimes travel with cat."

"Oh." Matthew bobbed his head. "If you don't mind, I'd like to sit in the back…"

"I am afraid that is no, since I do not have seatbelts back there, and safety is important." Ivan answered smoothly.

Matthew nodded before climbing in the front. He buckled up and they were on their way.

"So, what is your name?" Ivan began.

"M-Matthew." The blond responded.

"Matthew. In Russian that is Matvey."

"You're Russian?"

"Da."

"That's funny. I'm Canadian." Matthew whispered.

"I'm sorry, but you talk so low. Please speak up."

"It's funny because I'm Canadian." Matthew spoke a bit louder, which really had no effect.

Ivan managed to hear. "I see. How odd it is that we meet."

They drove in silence for another mile before Ivan spoke again. "So Matvey, what is that bear you have?"

"O-Oh, well, it's been with me since I was kid. I can't part with it."

"I see. How sweet."

"Um, I noticed you're low on gas. If you want to, we can stop the nearest gas station and I'll pay. Besides, I'm a little thirsty."

"Here, have some vodka." Ivan gestured to his half full bottle.

Matthew shook head, eyes widening a little. "N-no thank you, please! I'm not too big of a drinker."

A gas station appeared of off the horizon, so small and deserted that it seemed like the last one they'd see in a while. Matthew stared at Ivan, waiting for an answer.

Finally Ivan nodded his head slowly. "We will stop here then." He pulled into the station.

They drove up to a pump so old that the numbers still actually scrolled up. Ivan lumbered out and stared at the ancient piece of technology. "I do not think something this old thing takes a credit card, so you may want to pay inside."

Matthew nodded. "That's okay. I'll put in twenty. Do you want anything?" he stepped out.

"Da. If they have vodka. Any kind will do." Ivan reached into his pocket and handed Matthew a ten. As Matthew departed, Ivan opened the glove compartment and shoved something into his coat pocket. He set the parking brake and followed him into the convenience store.

..~xThisIsAPageBreakx~..

As Ivan stood outside pumping the gas into his Porsche, Matthew walked into the tiny building. An Asian man manning the counter nodded to him when he entered, then returned to jamming out to some poppy music that kept on repeating some weird phrase that sounded like "condom style"2.

Matthew looked around and found the soda machine. He put a little bit of every drink into his cup (he could never decide which one) and looked around for the vodka. He finally found a bottle in the little freezer, and, double checking to make sure the coast was clear—opened the bottle and poured a massive dose of the syringe into the alcohol. He quickly shut the bottle and went to the cashier.

"Excuse me," Matthew asked, trying to get the man's attention as he continued to listen to his music.

The man tore himself away and said, "Sorry! Such a good song! It's Korean, you know. Almost everything good comes from Korea!" He rang up Matthew. "$29.19."

Matthew stared at him. "How much of that is gas?"

"Twenty."

Matthew shook his head. "I only told him to do fifteen. Sorry." He put down the ten Ivan gave him and another filthy ten. "I'll send him in with the rest, since I don't have it on me."

The cashier shrugged his shoulders. "Just don't steal my gas."

Matthew walked briskly out of the store to where Ivan stood. "The vodka cost more than I thought. The cashier needs another ten."

Ivan nodded. "Well, lucky for you my American friend left me some money. I will be right back." He left to the store.

While Ivan was gone, Matthew dumped the old bottle of vodka and switched it out for the new one. He sat down calmly, sipping at his funny-tasting drink until Ivan came back.

He sat down in the driver's seat with a thud.

"I am truly, really sorry about that. I thought I had more." Matthew whispered.

"That is okay. You will get next stop." Ivan spoke blandly.

Matthew nodded.

Ivan started the car and they pulled out of the ancient gas station. The Russian glanced at his center council. "Where did the other bottle go?"

"I threw it out. I thought you were finished." Matthew hoped it wouldn't anger him.

Ivan tensed up for a second, but relaxed just as quickly. "Da." He opened the bottle and took a sip from it before taking a massive gulp.

They drove in silence for a while. Matthew rolled down the window and let the fresh wind blow his hair around. The smell of the forest all around him eased him. The evening was calm and relaxing.

Ivan glanced up and the Canadian and blinked. "So, Matvey. Is a violin really in that case of yours?"

It was Matthew's turn to blink. "O-Of c-course! Why wouldn't it be?"

Ivan shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I can think of a lot of ways why it wouldn't be. I grew up in a rough family. My parents taught me through pain and suffering. And when there was pain, there was always relief."

Matthew stared at him curiously, wondering where he was going with this.

"I have tried many things over the years to hopefully make the pain go away. So many things, that I am almost immune." Ivan frowned. "So spiking my drink really has no effect on me. Actually, it might have made me a little more alert." He chuckled. "So tell me, Matvey, are going to be doing the explaining, or am I going to have to punish you for the naughty boy you've been?"

Matthew smirked. "It's Oxycontin." His voice was suddenly very clear and confident. "Have you ever tried that, Ivan?" He glanced down. "Mon dieu, and you've already drunken half of the bottle. I would stop there so you don't die of overdose. I gave you enough to knock out an elephant." Matthew giggled. "I would pull over if I were you. You'll be losing consciousness shortly."

There was silence in the car for a moment.

Ivan shook his head, gritted his teeth, and slammed on the brakes. Matthew's buckle clicked and he smashed into the unforgiving dashboard. As he sat there for a moment, dazed, Ivan grabbed the zip tie from his pocket and swiftly tied the Canadian's hands together.

"Matvey," Ivan scolded. "You have just become my source of entertainment for the night. Your pathetic drug will do nothing."

Matthew shook his head and began to squirm. His nose was bloody and his lip was already beginning to swell.

Ivan ran a clumsy hand over Matthew's leg, squeezing it, before turning his attention to the violin case. He popped open the two clasps and made a face as a sour aroma trickled into the car. The case's contents didn't seem to be the source though. Industrial rope. Vials of oxycontin. A pair of old scissors. Four pairs of handcuffs. A spray bottle. And a red biker helmet.

Suddenly Ivan got a gust of cold air as the passenger door popped open. He lunged for Matthew; but he was already gone, running into the stretch of woods with his hands tied behind his back.

Ivan chuckled. "This boy runs away like that will save him." He turned off the car, set the brake, and popped the trunk. Then he lumbered out of the car, an insane smile on his face.

When he opened the trunk the iron water pipe glistened at him with welcome.

He clenched it tightly, walking out into the woods. "Matvey, you will not escape!" He shouted into the forest before beginning his pursuit.

"Oh yes I will," Matthew panted as he ran deeper and deeper into mass of trees. He crouched behind a maple tree (they were always good luck to him) and eased himself down to a sitting position. He could hear the crunching of the foliage as the Russian gained on him.

Thinking quickly, Matthew leaned back, raised his legs in the air, and with great difficulty slid his bound wrists up the length of them. Ivan soon crashed past the tree that hid him, looking and looking but not seeing him.

"Come out, Matvey. No more games." Ivan growled.

"Eeep!" Matthew squeaked.

Ivan froze. He suddenly charged in Matthew's general direction.

Matthew scrambled up and ran hands in front of him, to the familiar glint of the black Porsche. He finally broke free of the forest, his wrists cramping from the loss of circulation. He wiped at his bleeding nose and waited.

Ivan stumbled out of the forest moments later. His pipe flashed in the darkness.

"Ivan!" Matthew cried in false fear, for he knew he had nothing to worry about. The Russian's eyes were already beginning to close.

As in on cue, Ivan stumbled forward a few paces, opened his mouth as if to say something, then collapsed not two feet in front of Matthew, a world of darkness enveloping him.

..~xThisIsAPageBreakx~..

Ivan opened his eyes to the bitter cold of morning, his hands and feet handcuffed together. He lifted his head up to see that connected to his feet cuffs was a durable rope, which then connected to the back hitch of his porch. Another glance told him he was naked all except for his white scarf still tucked around his neck, and a new addition; a padded biker's helmet securely buckled underneath his chin. Why these were the only articles of clothing still on him he wasn't sure.

The driver-side door opened fast and out came Matthew, looking well-rested and very pleased with himself. He walked over to where Ivan lay and sat on his chest, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Moring, sleepyhead. You ready for the ride of a lifetime?" he smiled wide. His violet eyes looked almost red under the dim light of dawn.

Ivan smiled back, a chuckle escaping his lips. "How nice to wake up to someone so cute."

Matthew placed a hand over his heart and feigned bashfulness. "_Merci._ How sweet. So here's how it's gonna go. You have a helmet so you won't die right away. It's no fun when a head injury kills you too quickly. We'll start nice and slow and then pick up speed. My record's been five miles, but you're so big that might just change."

"I am not fat."

"Of course not. Just tall." Matthew said with a wink.

"What else is new?" Ivan smirked. "I don't suppose you are going to dump bleach on me so that it hurts even more."

"Actually I prefer alcohol. Love how it makes them squirm. But it's no use until you're all scratched up."

Ivan let loose a sinister laugh.

"What's the matter? Pre-death insanity finally gotten to you?"

Ivan shook his head like he was disappointed. "You talk too much."

Quicker than any man his size should move, Ivan sat up, slammed his helmet into Matthew's already bruised face, and grabbed his khaki jacket. While Matthew flinched in shock, Ivan twisted and rolled so that the Canadian was now underneath him. All this had happened in less than two seconds.

Ivan braced his elbows on Matthew's chest, making him gasp for breath.

"I would like the key now. Undo my wrists." Ivan demanded.

Matthew managed to choke out a response. "In…the…car…"

"How sad. So death comes for you now. That's okay. Suffocation is a fun death to watch. The struggle is quite entertaining, da?"

Matthew's eyes filled with tears, his face slowly turning purple. "P…P-Poc…ket."

"Da. I'll wait."

He clumsily reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the keys. He tried to unlock one of Ivan's wrists, but the air loss was exhausting him, and he slipped.

Ivan shifted just a bit for Matthew to choke in some air. He unlocked one of the cuffs.

Ivan smiled as he stretched his sore wrist. "Matvey, there is a key to this whole murdering business. You must always…"

His voice faltered as the rope suddenly gave a yank at his ankles, moving the Russian a few inches off of Matthew. Ivan wrapped his arms around Matthew and growled. "What did you do with car keys?"

"In the ignition."

Ivan cursed in Russian. "You have got to be doing the joking! Did you at least set the parking break?"

"No…"

"Damn you, Matvey!"

The car began to roll forward, slowly growing faster under the small incline. Ivan felt his skin begin to peel away and Matthew wriggled to get free.

"Key! Now!" Ivan's voice caught at the last syllable, his thigh on fire. He managed to grip Matthew's left wrist and clicked the empty cuff over it. Matthew screamed.

"No! No please! No!" Matthew tried to work the key into the lock but they hit a sharp rock and the keys flew from his hands. His eyes widened in despair, and with a sudden jolt Ivan was flipped off of him and they were dragged side-by-side along the asphalt.

Matthew felt the black road eat away at his jacket. Next to him Ivan groaned as his ass was slowly sawed away.

When the car reached forty Matthew's jeans were gone, along with his maple-leaf boxers, and just when it couldn't get any worse the road suddenly curved, and the car didn't.

Ivan and Matthew screamed together as they plunged down the mountain, the following thirty minutes the longest of their lives, and also their last.

**A/N: **

**Notes: **

**1: I just had to point out that this sentence was phrased the oddest way in the history of all of my bad sentence phrasing. **

**2: If you don't know what song South Korea's listening to I will smack you. Then I will force you to look up Psy's Gangnam Style on You-tube. **

**Cool, so that's it. Too plot twisty for you? I hope so. Review, and a bonus chapter will come, something with maybe a certain boyfriend who was waiting for a certain American who never came home...all up to you...**

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Epilogue

**A/N: Sorry this took a while. Here is your incredible Epilogue, just for you guys! Enjoy~**

Epilogue

"Yes, very gruesome, indeed. The two bodies were found severely mutilated. It's also been confirmed that their remains line the asphalt too." Officer Arthur Kirkland radioed to his chief.

"I see." The chief responded. "Well, I suppose we have nothing better to do but bag them up. Do you see any signs of foul play?"

Kirkland glanced wearily at the rope tied to the black Porsche. "Definitely."

"Terrible. Call me if anything else surfaces."

"Yes sir." Arthur hooked the radio back onto his belt, staring in awe at the sight he and his colleague had stumbled upon. Two adult male bodies stripped down to the bone, attached to handcuffs that attached to a rope which, finally, ended at the car's hitch. It was quite gruesome.

"I don't understand." Arthur thought out loud. "Who would do such a thing?"

"It looks like it was done on purpose." Officer Roderich Edelstein came up behind him. "I've dusted for fingerprints. The only ones I could find were of the killers."

"Who were they identified as?" Arthur asked, peering into the car.

"Local reports identify them as 27-year-old Ivan Braginski and 22-year-old Matthew Williams. It very much seems like the tried to kill each other, right?"

Arthur glanced down at the incarcerated bodies. "Yes. And it appears they succeeded." The Britt walked over and stared at the trunk. "Have you looked in there yet?"

Roderich shook his head.

"Well, move over you, git. Any evidence in there isn't going to jump out at you." He sent Roderich to pop the trunk, who muttered something about no manners.

"Isn't your boyfriend 22 as well?" Roderich asked as he searched for the button. He found it in the glove compartment and pushed it.

Arthur swallowed a lump. "Yes. Stupid idiot was supposed to call me earlier. I wonder where the hell he is."

Roderich smiled. "Don't worry. Probably just got lost and forgot."

"Sure sounds like him."

Arthur opened the trunk. He found some rope, a lighter, a bottle of alcohol, a steel water pipe, and…

He frowned.

Roderich seemed to notice. "What's wrong?"

Arthur didn't reply. He reached into the trunk and pulled out a 9mm pistol. Some dried blood was splattered on it. It suddenly felt like the temperature had dropped twenty degrees. He knew this gun well. He often saw it on many occasions.

"No." He muttered.

Roderich turned pale. "Is that…?"

"No." Arthur said louder. "No no NO!" He trembled with horror. "No! Alfred!" His voice caught at the end. He crumpled to the ground and dissolved into tears. Arthur cradled the pistol in his hands.

Roderich hung his head in silence.

"Alfred. Alfred, you idiot…" Arthur sobbed, knowing his boyfriend was gone forever.

..~xThisIsAPageBreakx~..

_One year before…_

It was a snowy drive on a deserted road in Russia. The asphalt shined with patches of ice and slush, warning that driving wasn't probably a good idea. Of course, that didn't stop the black Porsche that barreled down the frontage road.

Ivan scowled, wiping at the front windshield again. The glass kept fogging up from the inside, blocking his field of vision. It was sure to be a blizzard tonight. He would have to start the heater when he got home…

"_Braht__1_! _Braht_, look!" Ivan's older sister, Katyusha, squealed from the back. "You can't see the road behind us anymore! Isn't that scary?" Katyusha giggled.

"Da." Ivan replied automatically.

"No, it's not scary. Brother is strong like me. He will get us home," Natalia, who sat in the passenger's seat, replied coldly. She slipped her hand into Ivan's, which was resting on the center console, and he flinched. However, he did not remove it. He liked to keep his sisters happy. Which, unfortunately, included having them stay over for the weekend.

"I wonder if it'll die down in the morning." Katyusha continued. "Then we can go sledding, like when we were children! How fun would that be?"

The younger sister glared at her.

Katyusha squirmed nervously. "If you don't want to, maybe we could—"

"I would rather rest by the fire, in brother's arms. Only the two of us." Natalia interrupted.

Katyusha frowned. "But where would I go? _Braht_!"

"That is enough of the talking!" Ivan growled, turning his eyes off the road for two seconds to glare at them both. They fell silent. "When we get home, we will be—"

"Ivan! Look out!" Katyusha shrieked.

He turned back to the road just in time to see a tree that fallen in their way. He slammed on the brakes and the car's rear swung around so that the Porsche was backwards. But it did not slow. The ground was too slippery.

"Katyusha!" Ivan cried as the Porsche's rear crashed into tree. He shut his eyes. The sound of crumpling metal echoed in his ears and he felt Natalia release his hand. Bits of glass nicked his cheeks, his hands, his clothes. Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over.

He opened his eyes slowly.

Glass shards were everywhere, all over him and the car. They didn't come from any of the front windows, but from the back. He looked over and saw Natalia, dazed and confused, as struggled to unbuckle herself. It finally clicked and she opened her passenger door, stumbling into the full on blizzard. Ivan felt the cold right through his jacket.

He turned around, looking for his older sister. The tree's branches poked through the now empty frame of the back window. Glass was everywhere, especially on the seat. And then he saw Katyusha, still buckled up to her seat, slumped forward like a ragdoll. Through her sandy-colored hair Ivan could see a blow to her head, staining it red.

She wasn't moving.

Ivan cursed, knowing in his heart she was gone. He clumsily unbuckled his seatbelt, ignoring the slight dizziness and ache of his head, and he staggered into the cold once the door opened. The wind nipped at him like an old friend.

The silence was deafening.

Katyusha was _gone_. His older sister, and possibly the more favored of the two since she wasn't as clingy as the other. She had a heart of gold, and practically raised him when his parents were less nurturing. The image of her lifeless body flashed through his head.

"Brother! Big brother! Are you alright?" Natalia was next to him now, pulling at his sleeve.

Ivan turned towards her, anger suddenly erupting inside of him. Natalia had distracted him. She had made him take his eyes off the road. "She is dead."

Natalia stepped back, appearing uneasy. Like she could sense her brother's mood. "What?"

"Katyusha is dead." Ivan growled. "And it is your fault."

Natalia's eyes widened. "No. It cannot be. I was—"

Ivan lashed out, wrapping his hands around her petite throat. She squealed, but it immediately turned into bitter choking sounds.

"You killed her. You distracted me!" Ivan shouted, raising Natalia a foot off the ground, continuing to crush her windpipe. She could do nothing but weep silently as she struggled for air, gasping and pleading with her eyes for her older brother to let go. But when he finally did, it was too late.

Ivan released her neck and dropped to the snow, dead.

He looked down in shock at her body, realizing the truth. What had he done? His sister was dead before him, because of him. Yet there was something…

And then, he felt it. That sheer satisfaction of ending a life, of being responsible for something no one should control. It burned inside of him, kindling, aching for more.

The smile that followed would forever be the one fifteen other people would experience right before they were murdered. They would have no idea that this whole thing was an accident, one incident that triggered many others. And Ivan would never forget that fateful afternoon that changed everything.

_Around the same time…_

_This is it_, Matthew thought. _No turning back. _He stood in the kitchen leaning on the counter, breathing in and out, in and out. Today was the day. It was finally the day he was going to do it! It excited him, but at the same time terrified him. What if he missed? What if he got in massive trouble? If he failed…

Matthew shook his head. No, he wasn't going to think like that. He _had_ to succeed. He couldn't remain here, trapped in a vicious cycle where he faded into the shadows day after day. Lost. Alone. Forgotten. And all because of his brother.

Mattie couldn't blame Alfred, though. Of course not. It wasn't his fault he was so… out there. But nonetheless it still happened, and someone had to be blamed.

For better or worse, this burden landed on Cruz. Cruz, who always mistook Mattie for his brother and beat him for it. Cruz, who two years ago nearly sent Matthew to the hospital with his hatred for Alfred. He should've known better. He should've remembered him.

Matthew sighed, and opened a small kitchen drawer, producing at large kitchen knife. Oh well. His decision, Mattie supposed. Was it right to simply end a life though? Could he do it?

"Hey, Matthew. Did you get the ice cream yet?"

Matthew scowled. Oh yeah. He was ready. He was tired of hearing the Cuban's voice in his living room, normally after sheepishly apologizing for inflicted harm on Mattie. One way or another, someone was going to die tonight, and Matthew planned on living for a _long_ time.

"C-coming!" Matthew stuttered back, speaking very softly like he used to. The original voice was long gone, though, replaced by a furious tone fueled with anger and hatred. He loved that voice, knowing he was fully capable of being confident like his brother.

He grabbed the tub of ice cream from the fridge, grabbing two spoons from a drawer. He balanced it all in one hand and with the other held the knife behind his back. Ready, quick. He took in another large breath before entering the living room.

Cruz sat on the teeny red couch, facing the opposite direction as he watched the snow cascade down the window. Canada had gotten a mini blizzard earlier this afternoon, and the snow didn't seem to be letting up any time soon. The Cuban hated the cold. He wouldn't leave till morning.

Matter of fact, he would never leave.

Matthew quickly sat next to Cruz while he was distracted. He handed him the tub of ice cream.

Cruz took it for a moment. Then he made a face and handed it back.

Matthew stared at him with amazement. "No ice cream?"

Cruz cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you kidding? Do you see how cold it is outside?" He chuckled. "Crazy little Canadian. Besides, who eats plain vanilla?"

Matthew could feel the anger boil in his veins. "What, would you rather prefer it with a topping?" He heard the edge in his voice and winced a little.

Cruz didn't seem to notice. "Yeah! What do you have?"

"I have a delicious new topping all my own. It's a gorgeous red color, and as sweet as sugar." Matthew smiled.

Cruz nodded. "Well, go get some."

Matthew smiled again, this time feeling his mouth stretch like the Cheshire cat's. "Please. There's plenty right here." He stood up and straddled Cruz.

Cruz smiled. "I knew you'd finally come around." He began to stand but Matthew pushed him back down. The smile faded. "What—"

In response, Matthew brought forth the kitchen knife.

Cruz's silence was hysterical. He stared at Matthew like a deer caught in the headlights. Matthew chuckled. "What, did you really think I had a thing for you? The person who openly hurts me every time I see him?" He laughed again, running the blade along Cruz's right cheek, and bringing it to a sinister stop at the throat. "Pathetic. Are you really so full of yourself?"

"Matthew, please! Don't do this!" Cruz pleaded, moving not an inch just in case the knife suddenly jerked. Not like that would happen, though. Matthew had a surprisingly steady hand. It was Cruz who began to shake.

Matthew pretended to pout. "But I thought you said you wanted that topping." He brought the knife up and plunged it deep into Cruz's chest.

The scream sounded like it just came out of a horror game. It was so enticing. Matthew laughed and thrusted the knife again and again, continuing until Cruz grew silent.

He examined the knife, now stained a rich red. An uncanny giggle escaped his lips. "You see, Cruz, this was really your fault. After all, it was you who led this little lamb to the slaughter."

After he cleaned the living room up, throwing out the unwanted guest, Matthew sighed. It was truly remarkable, having the abilities to decide a person's fate. It felt… good.

That night he had a delicious feast of vanilla ice cream and a new, red topping made just for himself. And just like that the addiction began, a blood-curdling addiction that would be the end of fourteen different people. And it would delight him until the very end.

_End._

**A/N: **

**Well, that was interesting. Thank you everyone for reading my story! I hope to see you at the next one, bye!**

**~SpiritoftheMapleLeaf**

**Disclaimer: Original plotline by Jack Kilborn and Blake Crouch. Based on their short story, _Serial._ I only claim credit for putting the plot and Hetalia together, thank you!**


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